


in the blink of an eye you see her face

by astralelegies



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Growing Up, POV Female Character, Pre-Canon, Teen Romance, Trans Male Character, Young!Royai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralelegies/pseuds/astralelegies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you want to be friends?” he blurted suddenly, and reddened under her questioning frown. “It’s just…if we’re going to be living here together, I thought it would be nice for us to get to know each other better.” </p><p>“Okay,” she said, after a pause. “And what does friendship mean to an alchemy apprentice?” </p><p>“The same as it does to an unsociable huntress, I imagine. Someone I trust to have my back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the fantastic "Another Week" by I Fight Dragons.

The sun slanted low over the horizon. From her perch amidst the branches of the old oak behind her house, Riza Hawkeye watched the gate. The visitor would be coming any minute now, and she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement at the prospect. Today was unprecedented. Today was the day her father took on an apprentice. 

She spotted someone in the distance coming up the hill and shifted some leaves aside to get a better look. The walk from the village to the house was not an arduous one, but it was substantial nonetheless, and she knew her father had left the poor boy to fend for himself on the journey over. His name was Roy Mustang, and that was all she knew about him. 

“Riza!”

Her father was calling her. She decided it would probably be best to leave the protective haven of the tree and attempt to make herself look presentable. She didn’t really care all that much about things like looking presentable, but someone somewhere did, and someone somewhere would have words to say about it. It was a small town, and the Hawkeyes already held their place in the gossip that flew sparrow-fast from mouth to mouth. To the least of the rumors her father was eccentric; she was odd and lacked a sense of propriety. These things were true, and would always be true, whatever the townspeople thought, though the public chatter seldom graced them with such gentle reprobation. 

Riza climbed down from her nest and met her father on the front steps. The boy was in view from the ground now. He had black hair and a suit he hadn’t grown into yet, though from this vantage point Riza judged him to be a few inches taller than she was. He walked like someone who was trying to be sure of himself but falling somewhat short. She could relate. 

He pushed tentatively through the gate when her father made no move to open it.

“Master Hawkeye.” He bowed. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, sir.” 

“Don’t call me sir,” Berthold Hawkeye said, “it makes me feel like a soldier.”

“Yes s—Master Hawkeye.”

He gestured to Riza. “This is my daughter. She lives here. And now that introductions are out of the way I’d like to begin with your training.”

Something flared in the boy’s eyes— _so soon?_ they seemed to say—but Roy Mustang nodded and followed Mr. Hawkeye inside. He met Riza’s gaze on his way up the steps and acknowledged her with a nod of respect, and that was the last she saw of him for three full hours. By the time he emerged from her father’s study the moon was high in the night sky, and both of them had missed supper. Riza had eaten anyway and was now washing her dishes when Roy appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Um. Hello. I didn’t get the chance to properly meet you earlier.” 

“Riza Hawkeye.” She didn’t look up from her work. “I know who you are.” 

“I suppose you do.” He came around the table to approach her cautiously. “May I—is there any food left?”

She nodded to the cupboard next to her. “There’s leftovers in there. I cooked tonight, but in the future I will expect you to help with meals.” 

“Of course.”

Her father never helped with meals, but her father hardly ate them, either. 

Roy took the dish out of the cupboard and began to eat with a barely-restrained ravenous ferocity. After he had devoured half the plate he paused for breath. “This is good.”

“I should hope so.”

He hesitated, tilting his head to one side. “Am I…allowed to talk to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will your father be angry with me?”

“I doubt he really cares.” Riza stopped. “Maybe he does. I don’t know.” 

The dishes were all washed now. She moved on to drying them. Roy still sat at the table behind her finishing his supper, slower now. She could feel his eyes flickering towards her and away again every few minutes, sensing the uncertainty in them. 

“Does that mean I can talk to you?”

“Do what you want.” She reached up to put her last plate on its shelf and turned to face him. “Did my father tell you what time he expects you at training tomorrow?”

Roy made a face. “Six in the morning, sharp.”

“I’ll be up by then.” She paused, sizing him up. “I can save you breakfast.”

He smiled, gratitude and apprehension bleeding into his expression. “Thanks.”

“Just don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t.” 

She wasn’t quite sure what to say next. They stood awkwardly on opposite sides of the table, two teenage strangers painfully self-aware in the presence of someone unknown. 

“Well—good night.”

Riza swept past him and up the stairs to her room. She would have to wait and see about him, this Mustang boy. He seemed a bit unusual. But after all, the Hawkeyes were unusual too. 

~

She was nearly finished eating by the time Roy came down. 

“You’re going to be late,” she observed. 

“I will not,” he said. “I still have eight minutes.”

“Then you’d better hurry.” 

She handed him a plate of eggs, which he began to scarf down at a pace that rivaled his consumption of dinner the previous night. 

“What do you do during the day?” he asked after two-thirds of the meal was gone.

“You have four minutes.”

“I’m curious.”

She shrugged. “Depends. Weekdays in the spring and winter I board at a school in the next town over. Otherwise I mostly hunt and keep house.”

“What about friends?”

“I’m not exactly…well-regarded in the village.”

She left it at that. Roy returned to his food. 

“Two minutes now.”

“Right.” He stood. “I’m going in.”

“Don’t let my father return you in too many pieces.”

He grinned. “I’ll settle for one, if I can.” 

The apprentice and his tutor spent the morning locked inside the study. Riza avoided the second floor altogether and decided to go hunting. It had been more than a week since she’d last been out in the woods, and if she didn’t bring anything home today she’d have to brave the butcher’s in the village. It was something she’d done countless times before but preferred to avoid all the same, if possible. Those visits were less than pleasant. 

She grabbed the ancient rifle from its place next to the kitchen door on her way out and headed into the trees. The wood behind the house was not a particularly wild one, more of an offshoot of the larger forest, but there was always game to be found in good weather. Riza walked with the quiet of a shadow, slipping gently through the foliage like the forest was an old friend. Every few steps she would stop, tilt her head, listening for a sound to pick out amidst the canopy the outdoors had woven around her. 

Once she determined she’d heard something of value, she made a slow progression towards the source of the noise. About twenty meters down the way she found it—a deer, young, probably only a few years past a fawn. The meat would last them a comfortable period if she went fishing later to supplement it. 

Her pursuit was careful and halting. She’d read a book once about hunting and life and how both were about waiting, which might have been one of the truest things she’d ever seen on paper. She’d been practicing patience since her mother died. 

The deer ambled through the bushes, unaware of the threat hiding in the trees. It found its way to an open patch of field and stopped, nosing at the grass. Riza waited until she had a clear shot and fired once. 

The deer fell. 

Fortunately, it wasn’t very big, and Riza was able to hoist it over her shoulders and carry it most of the way to the house. She spotted Roy out in the yard as she approached, drawing circles in the dirt. He looked up.

“Do you need—

“I’ve got it.” She slung the deer down with a thud and propped the kitchen door open with her elbow, dragging her spoil through. It was already midafternoon, but for the sake of sanitation she’d have to get right to cleaning the carcass. She felt a rumble of hunger in the pit of her stomach and resolved to move quickly. 

There was a bowl of soup waiting next to the sink. Cold soup, but soup nonetheless. She had no doubts as to who had put it there. Riza hefted the deer onto the table and washed her hands, then downed the soup in a few gulps and set to work. 

By the time she’d finished the preliminary preparations and taken the recovered meat to the curing shed it was early evening. Roy Mustang was waiting in the kitchen when she got in. 

“You said I should help.”

“Of course.” She began getting out various pans and ingredients, pausing as she finished. “Thank you. For earlier.”

He looked down. “It was the least I could do.” 

“Your cooking could use some work, though.”

“Hey!” He bristled. “I didn’t exactly have much to work with.”

Riza just shrugged unapologetically. Perhaps valuing routine over variety was something city boys were unaccustomed to. 

Making the meal went more quickly now that she had an extra set of hands to help, but she didn’t say anything about it, because Roy seemed like the kind of boy to let it go to his head. He was quiet—she wasn’t sure if that was his natural state or some lingering trepidation—but the near-silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. Having another person by her side was simultaneously as strange as she’d expected and somehow familiar, and she found herself taken aback by it. 

Once the food was finished they took seats across from each other and began to eat, still speechless. After a few minutes Roy ventured a question.

“Do you think your father will want any?”

“I’ll leave a plate outside his door,” said Riza, “and we’ll see if he takes it.”

Roy frowned. “Does he usually?”

“Depends. Sometimes he’s too engrossed in his work. I don’t think he’s ever had an apprentice before—at least no one long-term.” 

“Meaning?”

“A few have tried. They didn’t make it past the first day.”

Roy stretched, wincing as he did so. “I can see why. I think I’m going to be sore for the rest of my life.” 

“But you made it through.” Riza allowed herself a small smile. “You’re the first to do that.” 

“It’s clearly because I’m so much more talented than everyone else,” he said, returning the grin. 

“Either that or you’re an idiot for staying.” 

“Then I’m an idiot.” His face grew serious. “I intend to see my training through, no matter what it takes.” 

Riza lifted the empty plate out of his hands, set it in the sink. 

“You might end up regretting that.” 

“I won’t,” he said, with a conviction that some would have described as foolish and others brave, and in actuality was probably a mix of the two. “I won’t.”

And Riza thought he may yet have some potential.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly she grew used to having a third person in the house. She didn’t see the boy much—he was shut up in her father’s study most of the time, or else exercising outside, or practicing transmutations behind the house—but most evenings they met for a meal, which they’d make and eat in relative silence. Without really talking about it they parceled out who would have what duties, falling into a rhythm of pleasant efficiency, and before either of them realized it an entire month had passed. 

“I’m surprised you’ve held out this long,” Riza told him one day. 

“I’m not as useless as you might think,” said Roy. 

“That isn’t saying much,” she replied, and he smiled because she was teasing him, and that wasn’t something she ever thought she’d do much of, teasing. 

She seemed to be on the cusp of several things she never thought she’d do much of, lately, chief among them a friendly and daily interaction with someone more or less her own age. 

One afternoon, while Roy was running laps in the yard, Riza’s father called her into his study. 

“What do you think of the Mustang boy?” he asked, and Riza knew it must be a loaded question, because her father only ever sent for her on occasions of grave significance. 

She chose her words carefully. “He’s…determined, certainly. And he works hard.” 

“Anything else?”

 _His ability to make a decent stew is improving_ , she thought, but didn’t say it. “No.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Berthold Hawkeye said. “I want to know if you notice anything unusual.”

Riza bit her lip and nodded. “Any particular reason why?”

“I’m working on something.” Her father’s eyes glinted with the harsh light that could only be conjured by the pursuit of his craft. “Something big, something that could lead to the completion of my life’s work. I need to be sure it won’t fall into the wrong hands.”

She thought she understood his point.

“Will you do as I’ve told you?”

She nodded.

“Good.” His expression seemed to soften slightly. “This is of the utmost importance, Riza.” 

After that she began to see Roy a bit more often. If she hadn’t known better she’d have thought her father was manipulating their meetings intentionally, but he was as ever too wrapped up in his research to pay much attention to the world around him. Apart from his insistence that she be wary of his apprentice he had even less time for her, for either of them, than usual. 

“He told me he’s finished with me for the day,” Roy said, walking over to where Riza was weeding her vegetable garden. “It’s barely past noon.” 

“I assume you have work to do in the meantime.”

He grimaced. “Too much. But I thought I’d keep you company for a while.” 

“If you want.”

“Are you…” he paused, “I mean, do you…like me?”

Riza set down her spade. “What?”

“You just don’t speak with me much. I thought perhaps it was something I’ve done.”

She shook her head, then sighed. “I’m just unaccustomed to having another person around. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” 

“Not at all,” he said, “I’m sorry too. If my question was out of bounds.”

“It wasn’t. You take me by surprise sometimes.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Your desire for communication. It’s…surprising.” 

“I wasn’t expecting to find anyone young here,” Roy admitted. “Master Hawkeye mentioned he had a daughter, but beyond that…

“He isn’t one for details,” Riza affirmed. “I wasn’t expecting you to last.” 

“And what about now that I have?”

She looked at him. “Now I am learning how to grow accustomed to you.” 

“Don’t get too used to me,” he joked. “I’ll lose all my charming mystique.” 

“You never had any.” She granted him half a smile. 

“Do you want to be friends?” he blurted suddenly. He reddened under her questioning frown. “It’s just…if we’re going to be living here together, I thought it would be nice for us to get to know each other better.” 

“Okay,” she said after a pause. “And what does friendship mean to an alchemy apprentice?” 

“The same as it does to an unsociable huntress, I imagine. Someone I trust to have my back.”

“That’s rather a lot to ask for two people so newly met.”

“We can work our way there.” 

Riza returned to her gardening. 

“Do you have many friends back at Central?” she asked. 

“I—no,” he confessed, “not really.” 

“Then this will be a new experience for both of us.” She stood, pulling off her gardening gloves. “Come on.” 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He followed after her into the woods, feet skidding uncertainly on the uneven forest floor. They walked in silence until Riza reached her destination. She stooped below the low-hanging branches of a tree to inspect the snare. It was empty.

“What are you—

“Checking the traps. I have to do it regularly.”

“And why am I here?”

She looked up at him briefly, raising an eyebrow. “You wanted us to get to know each other, didn’t you?” 

“Right.” He crouched down beside her. “So what are you trying to catch?”

“Rabbits, mostly, though occasionally something else will wander in.” 

“And how often does that happen?”

“Not often. The animals of this forest are cunning.” 

She moved on to the next trap, also empty. Roy watched her work with quiet interest, occasionally venturing a question or offering his help, which Riza refused because he was still an amateur at this point and she couldn’t risk him making a mess of things. When she mentioned this to him his ears grew red and he made a hot-headed retort, something foul-mouthed and cocky that smelled of the city in him, but otherwise he remained collected and curious. None of her snares had managed to capture anything, which she felt was a rather poor showing on her part. She’d need to improve on it if she wished to fully demonstrate her competence. Not that this was a requirement, but some buried competitive spirit was brushing off its cobwebs at the back of her brain. 

Roy invited her to study with him when they got back to the house, and since her chores were more or less finished for the day she thought she might as well accept. 

“I’ve been doing transmutations for years and he tells me to go back to the basics,” he griped, hefting a stack of books from his desk to the floor, where the two of them had set up camp with a blanket and a plate of sandwiches. 

“Fundamentals are important,” Riza said, opening her own book, a biography of someone important and long dead. 

“I feel like I should be doing more.”

“Then do this well and soon you will be.” 

They began to read together in silence. Every few moments one of them would look up, stealing a furtive glimpse of the other before their eyes met and flickered once more behind the safety of the pages before them. Riza wondered if she should say something. Probably she should say something, but every time she thought about starting the words got stuck somewhere in the back of her mouth, still unformed. What could she say to a friend? Or an almost-friend, she thought was a better term, because she wasn’t sure friendship was something two people could just decide would happen. 

“What was your life like back at Central?” she asked. 

“Crowded,” said Roy. “Aunt Chris—Madame Christmas—she’s my foster parent. She runs a hostess bar, and the girls are always around. They like to make fun of me, but I think they miss me. They’re like family at this point.” 

“I don’t know if I can imagine what crowded feels like,” Riza told him.

He set down his book. “It’s…different than here. Busy. Lively, on a good day, and overwhelming on a bad one. Something is always happening and isolation can usually only be found as a state of mind. 

“Take some of mine. I have plenty.” 

“I know. That’s the strangest thing about this place. It’s so much emptier than anything else I’ve had experience with.” 

“You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“Maybe. I somehow doubt that.” 

Riza wondered if their roles were reversed, if she was visiting his home in the city, if she would say the same. Living in near-solitude for so long was, good or bad, something it didn’t seem she’d ever be able to shake. 

They returned to their studying. She wouldn’t be in school for a few months yet, but it couldn’t hurt to learn some things on her own over the break. She finished her biography; it provided some interesting philosophical concepts and historical detail but was otherwise unremarkable. It would be dinner before long, which she would need to prepare, and then sleep and move on to the next thing, and the next thing. 

The next day Roy declared he needed a new alchemy textbook (which seemed unnecessary given the amount that already cluttered his room in untidy stacks), and Riza thought it was as good a day as any to bear public scrutiny and accompanied him. 

People sized him up as they walked together, and he felt their gaze, she could tell, but she kept moving with her chin tilted up, adjusting her pace to a clipped but confident stroll. 

“That your new boyfriend?” someone called as she went by. 

“My father’s alchemy apprentice.” 

“So the old hermit’s taken on another one, has he? How long is this one going to stick around?”

She didn’t bother replying. She’d thought the news would have reached every ear in the village by now. They reached the bookseller’s without further confrontation and darted in and out with a stealth any self-respecting spy would envy, slipping through the streets back towards their destination as covertly as the situation would allow. Once they were on the road home again they shared a small, victorious smile, feeling the sense of accomplishment that accompanied their first undertaking as a team. After that it became a sort of unspoken game between them, a challenge—how many places could they go and not be seen? Population and watchfulness were always inversely proportional; even though Central held more people they paid less attention than the few scattered out here. 

They were still new to this game, the alchemy boy and the hunter girl, when Riza’s father called her once again to his study. 

“My research is progressing,” he said. “I am very close to a major breakthrough, I can feel it.”

She nodded once. 

“How are things going with the Mustang boy?” 

“He studies,” she said, “he eats.” 

_He lent me one of his books yesterday after we managed to make it out of the grocer’s without running into a single person._

“Have you noticed anything strange about him? Anything at all?”

 _He wants to be friends_ , Riza could have told her father, but didn’t. She shook her head.


	3. Chapter 3

One day Berthold Hawkeye was called to the next village over to deal with an alchemical emergency, and Roy and Riza were given the house to themselves on the strict condition that neither of them go anywhere near his study. He would try to be back before the following evening. 

“Is it wrong of me to hope he takes longer?” Roy asked.

Riza only shrugged, because she was thinking the same thing. 

It was getting to be high summer, and the air hung like a sticky fog around the Hawkeye residence. Riza opened all the windows—barring the study—but there was so little movement, not even so much as a breeze, that the heat merely shifted from room to room in clouds. 

She spent the morning attempting to complete her chores, but felt exhausted after only an hour and decided doing nothing was a better option. Eventually Roy came and did nothing with her.

They were sprawled out in the grass behind the house, reading and saying nothing, until Roy reached out a hand to close her book and Riza looked up at him quizzically. 

“We should take advantage of the fact that your father isn’t here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?” 

He reddened. “N—nothing like that. I just meant…we can relax.” 

“I suppose.” But truthfully, it was difficult for Riza to play the rebellious youth when she could reasonably have gotten away with murder under her father’s roof. 

They took a picnic lunch to the woods, where the shade of the trees made the temperature slightly cooler. She brought her gun in case any game showed up, but even the animals were too hot to wander around their home. Instead she offered to teach Roy to shoot. 

He wasn’t very good at it. Riza had to suppress a smile every time he completely failed to hit the target she’d sketched out for him.

“You’re holding it all wrong,” she told him, adjusting the position of his fingers on the gun. “You have to carry it like you mean it.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, shoving it into her arms. “This is why I’m an alchemist.” 

“You might have to use a weapon one day.”

He rolled up his sleeves, crouching down to draw a circle in the dirt. “Why would I do that? This is much more convenient. Watch.”

He traced the array more quickly than Riza would have thought possible and pressed his palms to the ground. There was a flash, and a cluster of spikes went shooting into the trees. He stood up and dusted off his hands, regarding her smugly. 

“See? That’s the power of equivalent exchange. It’s the only weapon I need.” 

They walked back to the house. 

“Do you believe in using alchemy as a weapon?” Riza asked, opening the door for him. 

He frowned. “That depends, I suppose. I think above all else alchemy should be used to help people, and that’s why I want to pursue it. But for certain reasons…matters of defense, maybe…then yes. It might have to be used for more violent purposes.”

She thought about her father, locked away in his study all day researching whatever project he stringently guarded as his life’s work, and nodded. 

They were reading in the sitting room when the visitor arrived. Riza glanced up from her book to see a figure approaching on the road from the village, which would have seemed inconsequential if it hadn’t been so irregular. Closer inspection revealed this mystery guest to be a soldier, with a curtain of blonde hair and hard eyes. She felt unease prickling in the pit of her stomach. 

The woman marched up the drive, blue military uniform brilliant against its dull surroundings, and Riza found herself feeling grateful her father was gone because he would likely have picked a fight with this stranger and she wasn’t sure he’d have won. She turned to Roy, who was crouched next to her.

“Do you know this woman?”

He went pale. “Oh no.” 

“I take it that’s a yes.”

The woman rapped sharply on the door, and Riza went to answer it, heart pounding. 

“Can I help you?”

The visitor glared down at her. “Where is he?”

“Um…who?”

She rolled her eyes. “Roy Mustang.” 

“Olivier,” he called, striding ashen-faced down the hall. “What are you _doing_ here?” 

“I was in town on my way to the joint North versus East training exercises,” she said, “and I heard you’d been taken on as an apprentice.” 

“Berthold Hawkeye,” Roy mumbled. “He’s very well-regarded.” 

“He’s a recluse,” said Olivier, “to hear the townspeople tell it.”

Perhaps Riza should have been offended by the remark, but it was close enough to the truth. 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, “who are you?”

“Captain Olivier Mira Armstrong of Northern Command.” 

“I knew her when I lived in Central,” Roy explained. “Aunt Chris and her father were…business partners.”

Olivier snorted. “Please. They traded information. There was very little business involved.” 

“I’m still not sure what you’re doing here,” Roy told her. 

“I had to make sure you weren’t getting too out of hand.” She arched an eyebrow at Riza. “Are you putting up with him?”

“More or less,” Riza said. “He’s a gifted alchemist, even if my father won’t admit it.” 

“Don’t tell him that, it’ll go to his head.”

“It’s big enough already,” she agreed.

“I’m right here,” Roy muttered. 

“I see your time here hasn’t made you any less of a whining imbecile,” said Olivier. 

“Um,” said Riza, “would you like some tea?”

The visitor turned to her. “Tea would be great.” 

Over steaming cups of the oolong that Roy had brought with him from Central, Olivier explained the current state of the military’s affairs. 

“The situation is heating up in the East,” she told them. “Three days ago an Amestrian soldier shot and killed an Ishvalan child. The ensuing riots have been explosive.” 

Roy stared into the bottom of his now-empty mug. “You aren’t really here for training exercises, are you.” 

“They’re calling me to fight. If all goes well the conflict will be over in a few months and I’ll have a promotion on my hands.”

“And if it doesn’t?” 

“Then things become more complicated.” Olivier stood. “I should be going, they’ll be expecting me at Eastern Command soon. Thank you for the tea.”

“Wait,” Roy called after her, following as she strode back down the hall. “Olivier. How dangerous is it out there?” 

She fastened her blue coat, too heavy for the heat of the day, and didn’t look at him. “Not yet dire.”

Riza couldn’t tell if she was speaking the truth. Olivier turned around again and frowned at them.

“If either of you are seeking future employment opportunities,” she said, “the military is always accepting new applicants.” She looked directly at Riza. “Especially you.” 

She pressed a piece of paper into Roy’s hand. “I hope by the next time we meet you’re less of an idiot.”

And then she was gone. 

Afterwards Roy went out and exercised behind the house until the sun went down, when he appeared at the kitchen door and took his usual place next to the stove. He seemed quieter than usual, and for once Riza had to be the one to break the silence. She set the ingredients for their meal out on the counter in front of her and faced him. 

“So that Olivier Armstrong. Who is she, exactly?”

“Only someone I knew when I was at Central,” Roy said. 

“She acted like your older sister.”

“She is, in a way. Even though we didn’t see each other much when we were younger we practically grew up together.” 

“I thought you didn’t have any friends,” said Riza. 

He shook his head vehemently. “Olivier Armstrong is _not_ my friend. She’s much too terrifying.” 

They were silent a few moments. 

“May I ask you a question?” 

“If you want.” 

He started to say something, then stopped and shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he began again.

“Were things always like this?”

Riza frowned. “Like what?”

“This…isolationism.” 

She didn’t answer right away.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“No,” she said. She began setting out the plates for their dinner. “It was different before my mother died. I was too young then to remember much of it now, but I know that for certain. My father still had some reclusive tendencies, and more than the average amount of fervor for his work, but he wasn’t as harsh then, he had fewer sharp edges. Her death changed both our lives. He began retreating further and further into his work, and I was on my own. We had a maid for a while, she looked after me, but soon enough the money got scarce and we had to make sacrifices. I became self-sufficient. I had to.” 

“I can help,” Roy said. “With the housework, I mean. And the rest of it.”

“It’s alright. I told you, I’m used to doing things on my own. You need to focus on your alchemy.” 

“Still. I don’t think I could live with myself if all I did was sit around doing nothing.”

“The way you do when my father assigns you extra book work?” 

He grimaced. “You’re merciless.” 

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll let you hold off on studying so we can make dinner, but afterwards I fully expect you to complete your assignments.” 

“Alternatively, I do none of it, and we instead go wreak some havoc on the town.”

She folded her arms. “We can visit town tomorrow.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Sure.”

“Then I suppose I can’t complain.” He paused a moment, cocking his head to the side with the ghost of a smirk. “I should let you take pity on me more often if it means we’ll be going out together.”

She swatted him with her ladle. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

She went back to stirring the broth for the night’s cold stew while Roy chopped vegetables. Before long they finished the preparations and settled down to eat, each too wrapped up in their own thoughts to make much conversation.

The news about the events in Ishval was perturbing, and Riza knew it was why Roy wasn’t behaving like his usual self. Amestris had only recently made peace with the other nation, and now all of that had gone to ruin in a senseless act of violence. Her father would have blamed everything on the soldiers. She wondered if that was the whole story. 

She lifted her head from her bowl to see Roy gazing at her. 

“What is it?”

He ducked his head. “Nothing.”

One of his hands was shoved in his pocket, the same one in which he’d stuffed the paper Olivier Armstrong had offered him. Riza thought she knew what it might be. 

“What was that message Captain Armstrong gave you?”

“Oh, that?” He produced it from his pocket, already wrinkled. “An address. In case I need to reach her for anything. But I probably won’t use it, she’ll call me a coward.”

“May I see it?”

He blinked. “Okay.”

“Thanks.” She took the slip of paper from his outstretched fingers, not bothering to assuage his confusion. When she’d reached her room she glanced at the note’s inscription and pulled a fresh parchment and a pencil from one of her desk drawers. 

_Dear Captain Armstrong,_

_I hope you don’t mind; Roy told me where I could reach you and I wanted to write. I am curious, which I hope you do not also find offensive, but the life you lead is very different from the one I have known and this intrigues me. The North is a separate world, the military even more so, and both things feel so foreign to me I can hardly imagine them. What is it like? I hope this conflict is resolved and you are able to return to the North soon. I find myself wondering more and more often lately about what lies in the lands beyond my walls._

_My father hates soldiers and I must confess until recently I felt the same. I have only ever met a few, all arrogant, big-talking men until your visit. This also intrigues me. You work for the same establishment and yet are so obviously very different from them._

_Roy is afraid of you, which I find impressive but not particularly surprising, given the way you carry yourself. Even my father has never managed to cause him such instantaneous panic, and my father’s apprentices don’t last long for a reason._

_All things considered, Ishval is not so very far from here. Thinking about the fighting there unsettles me._

_I hope this correspondence does not come as a hindrance to you, which was never my intent. In truth, I admire your audacity._

_With respect,  
Riza Hawkeye _

Satisfied, Riza folded the letter into an envelope and set it aside. She’d mail it tomorrow on her next excursion into town with Roy. In the meantime she had more thinking to do.


	4. Chapter 4

About a week after his return, Berthold Hawkeye did something unprecedented. He joined his two housemates for dinner. 

He strode into the kitchen early that evening while Riza was teaching Roy how to make carrot soup. They fell silent at his approach, staring with uncertainty at where he stood in the doorway. 

“Don’t let me stop you.” 

Riza nodded and continued going through the steps. When she was finished she laid an extra place setting at the table, and the three of them sat down together. The quiet that descended upon the room as they ate was stiff and uncomfortable. Eventually Berthold Hawkeye put down his spoon pointedly and Riza looked up.

“Your school,” he said in that abrupt manner of his, like the words coming out of his mouth startled him. “You’re starting a new one, aren’t you?”

She was surprised he’d remembered. 

“In less than a month now,” she said. “There’s a finishing school a few towns away, but—

“You’re not going to finishing school.”

She nodded. “It’s not an idea I’m very fond of. But there aren’t many secondary schools in this area, and not all of those will accept girls.” 

He frowned, tilting his head. “What about Pymsworth?”

Elizabeth H. Pymsworth Boarding Academy was where her mother had gone, one of the best schools of its kind for miles. She ducked her head.

“I’ve done the math already. It’s too expensive. And besides, it’s all the way in East City…”

“I could help,” Roy interjected. “I’ve got my tuition money. It’s not much, but—

“No.” She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Mustang, but I wouldn’t want to be financially dependent upon you for my education.”

He looked down at is carrot soup, saying nothing, and she wondered if she’d done something to perturb him. 

Mr. Hawkeye’s frown deepened. “Don’t they have scholarships available?”

“Some. For top students, if they need it.”

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

 _The problem_ , Riza wanted to say, _is that you are incapable of managing this estate alone._ But he wouldn’t be entirely alone, not now that Roy was here, although she wasn’t sure she trusted the boy to hold his own when faced with all of her usual chores. 

Still, it was an opportunity she hadn’t considered. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said. 

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Berthold Hawkeye excused himself halfway through and wandered back to his locked study door, and Roy said nothing as they began washing the dishes. Finally Riza cut her way in front of him and planted her feet firmly. 

“Are you upset with me?”

“What? No, of course not.” He wasn’t looking at her. 

“You are. Is it about the conversation at dinner?”

“Not…exactly.”

She folded her arms. “Tell me.”

“I just wish I could help. And before you say anything, I completely respect your desire to be financially independent, it’s very logical and I admire you for it. But I feel so useless here. It’s frustrating.” 

She paused, thinking it over. “I suppose that sort of help feels foreign to me. I’ve grown accustomed to the necessity of acting independently, and I don’t…it isn’t something I could just give up.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask you to.”

“But you want to be useful.”

He lowered his eyes. “Yes.”

She tossed him a dishrag. “Then, Mr. Mustang, you have some learning to do before the start of the semester.”

\----

It was summarily decided that the young alchemy apprentice would take over the duties of the huntress while she was away at school. 

“Not all of them,” she told him. “Only the housekeeping I can’t take care of while I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He grinned at her. “I fully doubt it.” 

“You and that Mustang boy seem to be growing close,” Riza’s father said in his study one day, back toward her, hunched over his work.

She flushed. “Not improperly so.”

He waved his hand. “It’s no concern of mine. But I want to be sure you aren’t trusting him with too many responsibilities.”

“It won’t interfere with his studies.”

“That isn’t what I’m referring to.” He held up a sheet of paper with an indistinct array etched over its surface. “Flame alchemy, Riza. That’s what I’ve been researching. Whoever holds the key to this power could bend the world to their will.”

“How close are you?”

“Close. A year or two, maybe, but I’m on the verge.”

And Riza understood that he was telling her this to warn her away from interference, and to ensure Roy wouldn’t hear a thing about it. 

“He’s young,” said Mr. Hawkeye, “and hungry for knowledge. It’s a dangerous combination.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said.

She taught him the name of every plant in her garden and didn’t breathe a word of the conversation with her father.

It was close to the end of the summer when she received a reply from Olivier Armstrong. 

_Dear Miss Hawkeye,_

_Your fears are unfounded; your letter did not come as a hindrance to me. To the contrary, I appreciate the correspondence from someone willing to engage in an intelligent discourse rather than the mindless drivel I am accustomed to._

_As the conflict heightens, it becomes doubtful that I will return to the North any time soon. I do prefer being there, if I’m honest, but I will never shy away from my duty. Those imbeciles you referenced, with their big talking and bigger egos, they never get the job done when it comes down to it. They’re cowards. I am not. This is the difference that stands between us._

_You do not strike me as a coward either. Perhaps this is what will allow you to survive in the world beyond the one you have previously known._

_As for what the North is like, that would depend on the person you’re talking to. Some see it as a harsh, barren wasteland, and these are facts, but nonetheless it has become my home as an officer. Only the strong survive in the North. The land will not allow it to be otherwise._

_If you are unsettled by the fighting in Ishval, you will not be pleased to hear that it shows no signs of stopping. Originally the government assumed it would be a simple skirmish, and that is how they’re currently marketing it to the presses, but none of us know when it will be over. It could be in a month. Or a year._

_Audacity is merely owning up to truths that others are too afraid to confront, and using them to your advantage. You will need to learn how to do this one day._

_Sincerely,  
Captain Olivier Mira Armstrong, Amestrian Military_

Riza hadn’t actually been expecting a response. And the fact that Captain Armstrong, who was young but still legally an adult, had treated her like an equal was also unanticipated. She couldn’t remember the last time any adult had bothered to do that, except perhaps for her father, but she never counted her father in anything. She decided she would write back.

As the days before her departure drew to a close, the final elements of the plan fell into place. She received notification of a full scholarship to Pymsworth—minus supplies and room and board, but she could handle that—and finished showing Roy his responsibilities. She packed her bags, cleaned her room, and even wrote out a few new recipe cards in case the old ones didn’t suffice. 

“I can’t think of anything else I need to do,” she told Roy. 

They were sitting in the woods together on the evening before she was to leave. Earlier in the day he’d made his first kill, and afterwards Riza had shown him how to care for both the carcass and the rifle. 

“All the same,” he’d said, “I think I’ll stick to buying meat at the butcher’s.”

She didn’t know why he’d want to bother. The butcher was a spiteful old man who lost no love over the Hawkeyes or their recent visitor. 

Now, with no preparations left to make, they were watching the sun retreat behind the distant hills. Neither of them spoke, but Roy seemed on edge about something. He kept fidgeting with the hem of his coat and casting her furtive, sidelong glances. She frowned at him the fifth time she caught him doing it, and he blushed.

“I want to tell you something,” he said. “Something personal. If that’s alright.”

She motioned for him to go ahead. He took a deep breath.

“So you’ve studied anatomy before, right?”

“Yes,” she said, unsure of the direction this conversation was headed.

“Well,” he continued, “generally speaking, people judge what someone’s gender is based on the anatomical features they’re born with.”

She gave him a look. “I don’t need to have studied anatomy to know that.”

“Right. Okay. The thing is, based on the anatomical features I was born with, people would assume that I’m a girl.”

“But you’re not.”

“Exactly. Deep down I think it’s something I’ve always known, that I’m a boy, but it’s only something I’ve been able to put words to in the past four or five years, maybe. And…I thought you should know.”

She put a tentative hand on his. “I’m glad you told me.”

He gazed down at their linked fingers. “So you don’t think I’m unusual?”

“You might be.” She shrugged. “But who am I to tell? It isn’t my place to say whether you are or you aren’t. And anyway, most people are a little bit unusual in some way or another. You’re not alone there.”

He looked away. “I thought you would think of me differently.”

“Why should I?” She cupped his chin and turned it so he was facing her. “This is an important part of you, and I’m not going to just ignore it, because I think that would be doing your identity a disservice. But it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still Roy Mustang, my father’s insufferable alchemy apprentice.”

“Insufferable?” he bristled, mock-wounded. “This is the first time you’ve accused me of that offense.”

“And I suspect it won’t be the last.”

“You’re devastating.”

“So they tell me.” 

They stayed out half the night, talking and teasing each other, and the next morning Riza rose early to catch the train to East City. Her father was locked away in his study, so it was Roy who accompanied her to the station. 

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“A bit,” she confessed. “I’ve only been to East City twice, and not for very long. And some of the girls who attend Pymsworth are from families that consider themselves to be practically aristocratic.” 

“Ah, who cares about them? I’ll bet none of them know the first thing about hunting or wilderness survival.”

She smiled. “You could be right about that.”

“I’m definitely right.”

They approached the platform. Riza could see her ride advancing on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long now. 

“It’s strange to think you’ll be gone,” Roy remarked. “The house will feel empty without you.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. I can’t let you get yourself into too much trouble.”

“Here.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a package wrapped in brown parchment. “This is for you.”

“You didn’t need—

“I know I didn’t need to. I wanted to. Don’t worry, it isn’t anything extravagant. Just something to keep you company while you’re away.”

“Thank you.” She took it, stuffing it into the side pocket of one of her suitcases. The train pulled into the station. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“For now.”

“Right. Goodbye for now.”

She hoisted her bags, stepping toward the vehicle, feet faltering a moment as she turned back to him. “I’ll write you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s only a month, Hawkeye, there’s no cause for getting so concerned about it.”

“Oh, now _I’m_ the one who’s getting concerned?”

“You’re going to miss it!” someone shouted, and Riza realized with a start that the train was already pulling away from the tracks. She raced toward the nearest set of steps she could find and climbed aboard, tossing her suitcases next to her. Roy was jogging next to the rails, growing further away as the train outpaced him. He waved, and she granted him a salute in return. Her father would have been appalled. 

And finally the alchemy apprentice was only a blur in the distance. She directed her gaze instead to the land ahead of her and shouldered her belongings, pushing her way into the narrow train compartment.


	5. Chapter 5

It was high noon when her train pulled into the city. Standing stiffly, she gathered her bags and disembarked, jostling her way across the crowded platform. Roy’s package sat, still wrapped, at the bottom of her suitcase, where it would be safe from the bustle of the people hurrying by. 

She stopped a moment to survey her surroundings. East City was hardly the largest metropolitan area in Amestris, but its population had been growing in recent years, and the number of people hurrying in and out of the station was vastly superior to what it had been back in the village. She gazed up at the chamber’s tall marble arches and towering windows. Even the architecture here was bigger.

Outside she hailed a cab, gave the address of her destination, and watched the scenery flying by her window. The streets bustled with people out for their midday meal or to do the shopping, flocking to corner stores and vendors bearing brightly-colored banners. Above them in the near distance Pymsworth loomed, all grey stone and tiled towers, slightly out of place amidst the surrounding architecture, like a piece of a history book. The driver pulled up in front of the gate and she paid him, then stepped out onto the cobblestones.

An attendant met her by the entrance. “Miss Hawkeye, I presume? We were told you’d be on the noon train.”

She nodded.

“Right this way, please.”

She was led through a series of winding corridors and up several flights of stairs before the attendant deposited her in front of a nondescript wooden door. 

“You’ll want some time to get settled. Dinner is at five.”

She nodded again and stepped inside. There was a girl standing over a pile of luggage at the opposite end of the room, frowning at a small bureau. Riza backed up a few paces. 

“Um…I take it you’re my roommate?”

The girl turned, sticking out a hand. “Rebecca Catalina. And you are?”

“Riza Hawkeye.” She deposited her bags on the floor next to her bunk, looking around. “Not a bad place.”

“Small,” said Rebecca, “but we’ll get used to it. Where’re you from?”

“A village south of here. And you?”

She spread her arms expansively. “Right here in East City. This your first time?”

“My first time that counts.” 

“It must be quite a change.”

Riza almost smiled. “You have no idea.”

She set her suitcase on her bunk and opened it. She hadn’t packed much—she’d brought one bag in addition to the case, and it wasn’t very big. There was little point in carrying her whole life with her to boarding school, and she didn’t own many extravagant things in the first place, although Roy had chastised her for bringing too many books. His own was still buried out of sight beneath piles of clothing, which she began transferring to the bureau. By the time she and Rebecca had worked out whose belongings would go where, the afternoon was wearing to a close. 

The dinner bell rang. She followed Rebecca to the mess hall, a long, softly-lit room lined with rows of wooden tables. The two roommates sat together at the end of one of them with a cluster of girls Rebecca knew from her earlier school days. They immediately launched into a conversation about one of the new teachers while Riza stayed mostly silent.

Rebecca elbowed her. “You alright? You’ve hardly said a word all day.”

Riza started. 

“I’m fine,” she said, “sorry. Just daydreaming.”

Rebecca’s gaze softened. She scanned the surrounding tables. “Plenty of new faces out there. You aren’t the only one here from out of town. You’ll fit in just fine.”

Riza looked down at her plate. “I hope you’re right.” 

“You’re going to learn several important things about me this year,” said Rebecca, “and one of them is that I’m usually right.”

“Humble too, I see.” 

Rebecca bowed. “Of course.”

Later that night, after her roommate had fallen asleep, Riza slipped Roy’s package out of her bag and unwrapped it. 

It was a translation of an old Xingese folktale, the story of a Soo clan prince and the lady alkahestrest sent to assassinate him. Probably they would eventually fall in love only for it all to end in tragedy. Faded illustrations accompanied the words, inked in red and gold. Riza brushed her fingers over them, wondering at the glimpses of a world she would likely never know. 

She read the first chapter in the sparse candlelight, half-covered by blankets for some small measure of secrecy, until she was too tired to keep her eyes open anymore. 

She almost regretted it the next morning, but she’d survived on less sleep, even if it was her first day of class. 

“You seem tired,” Rebecca said, passing her a muffin. They’d both overslept and nearly missed breakfast, but they’d snagged a few pastries before the trays were whisked away. (Riza still thought it was strange, having what amounted to dessert first thing in the morning, but she wasn’t complaining.) Now they were seated at a pair of desks in what looked to be the science room. There was a locked supply closet in one corner, and next to it were shelves of jars and containers of all shapes and sizes, some of them empty while others bore various strange-colored liquids. The walls were lined with portraits of great inventors and theorems, handwritten transcriptions of proofs and anatomical guides and star charts. 

There were diagrams on the walls, too, circles bearing symbols she recognized. _Alchemy is a science_ , Roy would say whenever he started poring over another of her chemistry manuals. For some reason seeing the arrays here unsettled her, like a reminder of home, but not the welcome kind. It felt like something left unfinished. 

The teacher entered, then, introducing herself as a Ms. Wolcroft, and began to call roll. She paused when she got to Riza’s name. “Hawkeye, hm. You wouldn’t be related to Berthold Hawkeye, the alchemist, would you?”

And here was what she had been hoping to avoid.

“He’s my father,” she said. 

Ms. Wolcroft’s eyes lit up. “How excellent. I’ve read all the research papers he wrote when he was younger. Well, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all in this class.”

_No_ , Riza thought, _I have an entirely different sort of trouble in store for me._

Rebecca poked her. “You never told me your dad was an alchemist.”

“It’s not exactly something I advertise.”

“Why not? If I was related to someone with actual talent I’d never stop talking about it.”

Riza bit her lip. “I just…don’t. Can’t have people judging me by my father’s legacy, and all that.”

Rebecca seemed to buy it. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, “but I’ll have to repay you for holding out on me like that. Any other secrets you’d like to share?”

“Not that I’d like to share.”

“You’ll tell me one day, Riza Hawkeye, you mark my words.” 

Rebecca Catalina, it turned out, made an excellent ally. She gave flippant answers to the teachers in class, while Riza sat next to her, mortified, but they would always have a laugh together about it afterwards. She knew how to charm the kitchen staff into an extra helping of dessert at dinner, and (rules be damned) smuggled food into the dormitory with regularity. She would share it with Riza, and in return her roommate would help her with her history homework or indulge her while she gossiped about every boy in East City. 

About a week after Riza’s arrival she received a letter over breakfast, delivered with the morning post. 

_Dearest Hawkeye,_

_I’m being flippant with that form of address. Please don’t shoot me._

_Things here are much the same as you left them, except duller. I thought you’d want to know that so far I haven’t managed to burn your house down. Though there’s always hope._

_Your father has been working me harder in your absence. I rise early and train with him for six or more hours without stopping, until he releases me for lunch. Then I attend to the individual study he’s assigned me, or my chores, while he stays locked in his room researching whatever secret project consumes him. Sometimes he’ll call me back. Sometimes he won’t. He still refuses to tell me what he’s working on._

_It’s lonely here without you. I know that you haven’t been gone for very long, but most days I hardly see anyone but your father. Sometimes I have to take a trip to the village just so I can remind myself that I’m not one of the last humans in existence. I don’t know how you did it all those years._

_Yesterday I tried transmuting myself a bicycle to make transportation easier, but I am, embarrassingly enough, not yet at that level of expertise. Someday soon. This is why I’m training. (To get better, that is, not to transmute bicycles.)_

_I hope you’re enjoying that book. It was my mother’s once—I’m half-Xingese on her side, she brought it with her when she came to Amestris as a little girl, along with a suitcase of others. I used to read it growing up. (You’ll like the lady alkahestrest, I’m sure, even if she does fall in love with the prince by the end. Alkahestry is like Xingese alchemy, but no one in this country knows much about it.)_

_I should close this now, it’s late and your father’s called me even earlier than usual for tomorrow. Should I be worried? (Probably.) I promise I’ll do my best. And I’ll continue keeping an eye on him, like you asked me to. I’ve even managed to slip a meal under his door on several occasions. Who’s useless now?_

_Yours,  
Roy Mustang. _

She folded the paper and stuck it in her pocket, smiling slightly in spite of herself. Across the table Rebecca grinned at her. 

“Letter from home? Your boyfriend?”

“God no.” Riza shook her head. “Just a friend of the regular sort. My father’s apprentice.”

“An _apprentice_. Well that’s just asking for a romantic subplot.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you, it isn’t like that.”

Rebecca stood. “Allow me to give you a demonstration.” She turned to Beatrice, the girl next to her, and adopted the caricature of a masculine pose. “Oh Miss Hawkeye, I was wondering if you could come up to my bedroom and help me with my studies.”

“Study me instead, alchemy boy,” Beatrice cried enthusiastically, in a falsetto impersonation that sounded absolutely nothing like Riza’s voice. 

Rebecca put her hands on her hips. “You see?” 

“What I see is that you’re delusional,” Riza said, but she couldn’t help smiling. 

“Just don’t expect me to act surprised when you make the engagement announcement.”

“Ew. Stop right there.” 

“Can I be your maid of honor?”

“I’m not listening to you.”

“No wait, you should name your firstborn child after me instead.”

Riza spat out her toast. “This conversation ends here.”

“You’re bright red,” said Rebecca.

“You know what word rhymes with red? _Dead_ , which is what you’re going to be if you don’t drop the subject.” 

Rebecca held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, Miss Touchy, I’m only teasing you.”

Riza let out a long breath.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

The week of fall break came about a month after the start of term. Riza took the first train out of East City, promising Rebecca that she’d be back with at least one good story to tell, and arrived in her hometown just before lunchtime. Roy met her at the station with a grin and a basket of sandwiches. They sat together on a bench outside. 

“You’re back,” he said. 

“For a week,” she reminded him. “Which I will probably spend repairing whatever damage you’ve managed to wreak upon the property in my absence.” 

He sniffed, taking an offended bite of bread. “I’ll have you know I’ve been more than competent in my duties.”

“We’ll see about that.” She paused, then offered him a hesitant smile. “I’m…glad to see you again.”

He ducked his head. “Yeah. Me too.” When he looked back up at her there was an almost devious glint in his eyes. “Come on. I have something to show you.” 

“That’s an ominous statement.” But she followed him anyway. 

They walked up to the house, finishing off the last of the food. When they arrived he led her out behind the shed, where she saw a strange-looking steel contraption with two large wheels and a leather seat. 

“A bicycle,” she said. 

“I told you I’d make one eventually,” said Roy. “I finished the last transmutation this morning.”

“Have you tried it out yet?”

“I haven’t had the chance. But it should work fine, I based the design on some schematics in one of my engineering books.” 

“How do you—

She stopped herself, and he looked at her curiously. “What?”

“How do you, um…ride it?”

“You mean you’ve never…”

She shook her head. “Have you?”

“I had a bicycle back in Central,” he said. “I could teach you. If you wanted.”

“I’d like that.” A voice from within called her name, and she frowned. “…Some other time. It would seem my father has realized I’m back.” 

“I’ll take your bags up to your room for you.”

“Thank you.” She made her way inside the house, creeping on quiet feet up the stairs to her father’s study. He was hunched, as ever, over his desk, but this time it was some kind of experiment spread out before him rather than a book. 

“I need you to go hunting,” he said. 

She bowed her head. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to catch?”

“Doesn’t matter. I need fresh blood for my latest test.”

It was then that she noticed the long scrape along his left forearm, partially obscured by a sloppily-wrapped bandage. 

“You used your own.”

He shrugged absently. “It was readily available.” 

She turned to leave. “I’ll hunt as soon as I’m done putting my things away.” 

“Wait.”

From the look on his face, she almost expected him to thank her. But he only shook his head, sighing a little. 

“Close the door on your way out.” 

Several hours later she was back with a rabbit carcass, and he ruffled her hair, accepting the offering without a word. It was now late afternoon, and as she walked back down the stairs she could see the sun already sinking behind the trees through the open window. Winter was on its way already. She paused on the landing. In the fading light, the orange of the leaves made it look as though the forest was burning. 

“There you are.”

She started, wheeling around to see Roy standing behind her. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t.” She composed herself. “I was only thinking.”

“So was I. Do you want to try out that bicycle now?”

She glanced back out the window. “I was going to make dinner and go to bed early. It’s been a long day.”

“C’mon,” he pleaded, “it’ll be fun.”

She smiled. “Alright.”

“Yes!” He grabbed her hand and spun her around. “We can roll into town and terrify all the pedestrians.”

“Sometimes I worry about you,” she said, laughing. He tugged her down the last flight of stairs and out to the shed. The bicycle still rested against the back wall. 

Roy swung himself into its seat and gestured to the handlebars. “Alright. I’m going to test it out. You can sit here.”

She looked at him skeptically. “That’s a catastrophe waiting to happen.”

“Just get on the damn handlebars, Hawkeye.”

“Well, if you’re going to be so polite about it…” She hopped primly up on the bike, turning around to give his head a small nudge. “If you get us both killed with this mad contraption I’m going to figure out a way to bring us back to life just so I can kill you myself.”

He smirked. “Noted. I will sweep you off my feet with my flawless bicycle skills.” 

“You wish you had what it took to sweep me off my feet.”

“Challenge accepted. Hold onto your hat.”

Before she could open her mouth to make a reply they were off, tearing down the dirt road toward the village. She let out a yelp—this mode of transport was faster than she’d expected, and from her precarious position atop the handlebars she felt she could fall off at any moment. 

“You’re going to pay for this, Roy Mustang.” 

“With my life, I know.” His voice was teasing. “But not before you admit you’re enjoying yourself, Riza Hawkeye.”

She didn’t answer him, because just then they came to a hill with a steep downward incline, and as Roy peddled over the edge the wind rushing at them knocked her breath away. She could hear it pounding in her ears as they sped down, faster and faster, sparking a wild thrill in the pit of her stomach. _This must be what flying feels like._

She stole a glance back at Roy. He had his eyes on the road, brow furrowed in concentration, mouth tinted with the tiniest of smiles. With his guard down like that he looked so young, so vulnerable, and it struck Riza how very _fond_ she was of her father’s apprentice. Perhaps, after all, they had truly succeeded in becoming friends. 

They earned many strange looks on their way into town. She supposed that was fairly standard, though she prided herself with the knowledge that the passersby did seem at least a little more scandalized than usual. 

“You’ll be the death of my reputation,” she told Roy. “A proper lady shouldn’t be seen keeping such close company with a rake like you.” 

“If you’ll forgive my saying so, Miss Hawkeye, I doubt very much you were ever a proper lady.”

“Not once in my life.” 

She wondered sometimes, when she was out with Rebecca and the other girls from school, if that was a bad thing after all, if she should have tried harder to be what she was supposed to. It never seemed to sit right with her. There were other things that mattered more, she knew, and she couldn’t afford to listen to talk if talk was all it amounted to. She could feel the eyes on her back as she swept through the streets, sensing the whispers begin to spread. 

_But there have always been whispers_ , she reminded herself, _so it’s nothing to let bother you._

“I’m stopping,” Roy announced. He pulled over next to the bookseller’s and she hopped off. “Okay. Now it’s your turn.”

“Me?” Suddenly she was uncertain. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time. It’s difficult to balance at first, but it’s easy once you get the hang of it. All you have to do is pedal.”

Her brow furrowed. “What if I fall?”

“I’ll catch you.”

She took a deep breath. 

“Okay,” she said. 

She climbed onto the seat and gripped the handlebars, lifting a foot to test one of the pedals. After a moment she tried the other one, then began to move hesitantly forward. 

“Hey,” she said, “I’m actually doing it.” 

“See? It’s not so bad when you’re used to it. Now try going faster.”

She shook her head, and he offered her his hand. “Here. You can hold onto me if it makes you feel better.” 

“Are you propositioning me?”

He went bright red. “Of course not! I would never—

“Relax.” She grabbed his hand. “I’m only teasing you.”

_Teasing a boy_ , she thought. _The modern world is a beautiful place._

“Right.” His cheeks were still tinged with pink. 

She began peddling ever-so-slightly faster. Soon they’d left the village behind them, and were back on the road up to the house. Now that there were less people around—or no people at all, really—she thought she could try going a bit faster still. She sped up. Roy, who had been at a light jog, now had to quicken his pace to keep up with her. 

“You’re doing fantastic,” he said.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She increased her speed again, and now Roy was falling behind her. The wind was at her back, rushing through her hair, making her breath come in short, sharp bursts. Her tires burned through the dirt, sending dust and small stones flying up around her. She chanced a glance behind her to see how Roy was doing. 

…and lost her balance entirely. She careened to one side, felt herself slipping, overcorrected, and fell. The bicycle landed on top of her. 

She heard footsteps pounding closer. 

“Are you alright? Can you hear me? Please, say something. Oh god, I’m so sorry I started this—

Riza held up a hand, stopping him. “I’m fine.”

A slow grin broke out over her face, and she began to laugh. Roy, alarmed, moved to help her, but she waved him off. She picked herself up, dusting off her pants, before hoisting the bicycle upright and climbing back onto it. Roy’s eyes widened, and she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Race you back to the house.”

And she took off down the road ahead.

\----

From the window of his study, Berthold Hawkeye watched as his daughter and his young apprentice made their way back to the house. They were laughing about something, heads bent together like conspirators. Riza lifted her gaze, just briefly, and he saw a happiness on her face he couldn’t recall observing in a long time. _Though perhaps_ , a part of him thought (the better part, maybe), _you simply weren’t paying attention._

That Mustang boy was something new. This was an intriguing fact—he did, after all, devote himself to his studies in a manner boys his age seldom did—but also a worrisome one. New meant trouble. 

_I should have Riza keep a closer eye on him_ , he thought. A person could never be too careful. There were stories, even in the modern age, of alchemy apprentices running off with the secrets of their masters. He couldn’t afford to take any chances, not with something this big. 

_How fitting_ , he thought, _that my life should end with my life’s work_. He wasn’t there yet. Only almost. A few more years, probably, and then… _and then_. 

He looked back out the window but saw no trace of either of his young housemates. Most likely they were down in the kitchen making dinner, which seemed to be a thing they did sometimes. Later Riza would bring up a bowl for him, and if he remembered he might try to eat some of it. 

She would do alright for herself, his daughter. She already looked after herself most of the time, and after living at boarding school for—what was it, a few weeks? A month now?—she should be able to handle the wider world. 

He’d have to ask her to go hunting again tomorrow. This latest experiment was his most accurate yet, he could tell. He wasn’t there, but he was getting closer. Every day, every hour brought him nearer to the completion of his research. _Only a few more years._ And then all that he’d worked for would be a reality. It would need to be kept secret, of course. A person could never be too careful, not with things like this, not in times like these. Perhaps, in that regard, Riza could be of assistance as well. 

He let out a muffled curse, scolding himself for allowing his mind to get so distracted. He needed to focus. Time was of the essence. There wasn’t much of it left. This work was important, he reminded himself, and he couldn’t afford to concern himself with other things. Not now. 

He turned back to his textbooks, already beginning to forget why he’d put them down at all.


	7. Chapter 7

The problem was that whenever Roy Mustang got an idea in his head, he couldn’t just let it go. 

At least, that was how he found himself sitting on a train to East City late one morning in February, staring out the window at the passing countryside. It had all started a week ago, when he’d gotten a letter from Riza saying that she’d been given the following Friday off for recordkeeping but wouldn’t be able to make it home for the weekend. It had been more than a month since he’d seen her at winter holidays, and most of those he’d spent back in Central, checking up on his own home. It had occurred to him that she might appreciate a visit, never mind the fact that he rather wanted to see her.

He hadn’t phoned ahead to tell her he was coming, which now that he thought about it was probably a mistake. What if she was out with her friends when he arrived? She’d said something about an excursion with her roommate that she was attempting to avoid. 

He decided not to worry about that. He’d surprise her. 

The city was quiet as he disembarked, nowhere near the bustle of Central. Still, his apprenticeship meant he didn’t often get the chance to leave the countryside, and he relished the feeling that came with wandering the winding avenues, stone buildings towering up on either side of him. 

Elizabeth H. Pymsworth Boarding Academy was located at the end of an out-of-the-way street in the city’s more fashionable district. The architecture was old—dating back to the country’s foundation, probably, or even earlier. Hell, he could see several turrets poking out from behind the main gate, and those were almost never found on non-military buildings. He thought he might understand why Riza had been hesitant to attend school here. 

Now that he’d found the place, he wasn’t entirely sure what his next step should be. Should he knock on the front door? Throw stones at her window? He’d probably break the glass, which would only make her angry, and besides, he had no idea which window was hers. 

Before he could settle on a decision, he heard hushed voices coming from the alley next to him. 

“…going to get us caught.”

“Not if we’re careful. Just listen.”

Heart pounding, he crept closer, not daring to glance around the wall and see who the voices belonged to. 

“…have the documents…can discuss this later.”

“…Dragonskeep. Okay.”

He listened for more, but the conversation seemed to have ended. After a few moments a figure strode nonchalantly out of the alley. Taking a deep breath, Roy left the relative safety of the wall to follow him. From this distance he couldn’t make out much about the person’s features—the frame was tall of stature and possibly male, but still dipped in the shadow of the nearby buildings.

He definitely needed to talk to Riza now. Even if the discussion had seemed suspect to him, she might have a different opinion. And she might be able to help him figure out what it meant. 

The problem now was notifying her in a timely manner. Any second now he could lose his only lead, and he didn’t think he could take his eyes off his charge long enough to run inside and search for her. 

“Hey!”

_Damn._ He’d been so busy watching the man he’d neglected to notice him standing only a few feet away. Now that he was in full view, Roy saw he wore a Military Police uniform. That complicated matters. 

“You. Boy. What are you doing here?” 

An idea struck him. 

“I’m just waiting for my girlfriend, um…” He cast around for some inspiration, and his eyes landed on the sign of the boarding school. “…Elizabeth.” 

_Well, at least part of that is true_ , he thought. 

By some stroke of luck or fate, Riza chose that moment to appear from out of the great oak doors. She caught sight of him instantly, but before she could say anything he raised a finger to his lips and beckoned her closer. Frowning, she nodded slightly, and hurried down the steps to meet him. 

“And like the devil she appears,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist. She kicked him, and he tried to disguise his squeak of pain as a cough. “This is Elizabeth, my girlfriend.” 

_Girlfriend?_ she mouthed. He shot her a look that said _I’ll explain later_. She rolled her eyes, but turned to the officer, giving him a demure smile. 

“I’m terribly sorry if he’s caused you any trouble,” she said, linking Roy’s hand with her own. “He can be a bit dim sometimes.”

The officer glared at them both, but he grudgingly let them pass through with a “don’t let me catch you loitering around here again.”

As soon as they were a safe distance away Riza turned to Roy, hand on her hip. 

“What was that about?”

“That man’s up to something.”

She cut him a skeptical look. “Are you sure you’re not just looking for trouble?”

“I’m serious.” He told her about the fragments of conversation he’d overheard.

“It’s suspicious,” she agreed, “but there could still be a perfectly logical explanation.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but where’s the harm in trying to find out?”

The look she gave him suggested she knew exactly where the harm was. 

“I’ll indulge you,” she said, “but more evidence needs to be gathered.”

“Of course.”

“And why the codename?”

“I panicked under pressure. Besides, I wasn’t about to give him your real name, was I?”

“Fair point.” She seemed to realize one of her hands still clung to Roy’s own and dropped it quickly. “So what now?”

“Care to launch an investigation with me?” 

“It’s my day off,” she muttered, but her eyes were sparkling. He held out his arm.

“Let’s take a walk.” 

He didn’t know where they were going, exactly—the MP had vanished, and there weren’t any shops or cafés nearby that he could have ducked into. But when Roy Mustang got an idea in his head, he couldn’t let it go. They were going to see this one through. 

The most logical course of action would be to go back to the scene of the incident and look for clues. Of course, just because it was the logical option didn’t mean it was destined to work in their favor.

“Nothing,” he growled, kicking the wall in frustration. Frowning, Riza put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Alright, so there aren’t any clues here. Can you think of anything you overheard that might be useful?”

He shook his head morosely. “I didn’t get much, and some of what I did hear I couldn’t understand.”

“How do you mean?”

“Dragonskeep,” he said. “I thought it must be some kind of code.”

Riza shook her head. “Not a code, a meeting place. Follow me.” 

She took off down the city streets at a businesslike walk, Roy trailing in her wake. They arrived in front of a café overflowing with activity and she slowed to a stop, pointing up at the sign. 

“The Keep of the Dragon,” he read. “Clever.” 

“Rebecca took me here once. Come on.” She tucked an arm through his once more and pushed open the door. She bent her head towards him. 

“If he’s here then he’ll recognize us from earlier,” she whispered. “Be careful.”

“I can be careful,” he said, and she gave him a stern look. 

“I thought you wanted this to be a _serious_ investigation.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They picked their way slowly through the tables, glancing around warily out of the corners of their eyes. 

“There,” Riza hissed. Roy made visual confirmation, then motioned her to a seat a few meters away. 

“So far it’s just the policeman,” he said. “But if this is a meeting place then there has to be someone else coming.”

She nodded. They sat in a nervous sort of silence, glancing over at the door every few seconds and then trying to pretend that they weren’t. Roy found himself questioning again if this was really such a good idea. 

The waiter came and recited the menu. Riza got a coffee. Roy ordered soup. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the door swing open. A tall, sharply-dressed woman edged her way briskly over to the military policeman and sat down opposite him. 

He leaned over the table, keeping his voice low. “Our mark is here.”

“Who is it?”

Roy checked again. “I’m not sure. She looks important, though. She’s handing him a file of papers.”

“I’m going to take a look,” said Riza. She waited a moment, then cautiously threw a glance over her shoulder. She paled, spinning back around in her seat.

“What is it?”

“That’s the vice chancellor.”

“Who?”

“The woman with the military policeman. She’s the assistant academic administrator at Pymsworth.” 

He frowned. “It did seem a little too convenient that I stumbled across a criminal dealing right outside your school.”

“This could be bad,” said Riza, and her voice was as grave as Roy had ever heard it. “I need to get a closer look at those papers.”

He nodded. “I’m on it.” 

He scanned the room, noticing the waiter carrying several precariously-balanced trays headed in their direction. Roy crouched nonchalantly, pulling a piece of chalk from his pocket, and sketched a quick array below the table. He waited a few seconds, then pressed his fingers to the circle just as the waiter passed by.

The floorboards rippled beneath the waiter’s feet and he tripped. The trays went flying. Their contents spattered all over the vice chancellor and the policeman. 

“Get to the door and go,” Roy whispered, and Riza took off. Under cover of the surrounding palaver he darted over to the neighboring table. He snatched the folder from the military policeman’s bag while he was yelling at the server, then ducked his way around the remaining tables to the exit.

He couldn’t tell if his suspects were after him.

He caught up to Riza outside the door. They gave each other a curt nod, acknowledging the job was finished, and didn’t stop running until they were six blocks away from the café. Riza ducked into a corner store, and Roy followed her. 

“Not so useless now, am I?” He handed her the file. 

She folded it carefully open and paged through the documents, frowning. 

“I can’t quite tell,” she said, “but it looks like a record of some financial transactions. The vice chancellor is lining her pockets with school money. There’s stuff on the policeman here too, some kind of taxation scheme they’re involved in regarding the transfer of education funds.”

“Something illegal?”

She nodded. “I think so. I should get this to the school.”

They made their way back together, careful to keep to side streets and watch for followers. Riza didn’t speak. She slid the file beneath a clump of bushes behind Elizabeth Pymsworth’s statue and telephoned the headmistress to inform her of her findings. When the woman asked who she was, Riza paused. 

“A concerned citizen,” she said, not earnestly, but not sarcastically either. She hung up and turned to Roy. “Let’s go for a walk.” 

They meandered their way along the riverside, lost in thought, reveling in the success of their exploits. Suddenly he stopped. 

“Why didn’t you tell them your name? Your whole school would’ve called you a hero.” 

“Or berated me for stirring up a scandal.” She shrugged. “Somebody had to uncover the truth. That somebody being me doesn’t change anything. Besides, you helped.”

He shook his head. “You’re incredible.”

“Maybe.”

They walked for a while in silence, watching the sun set over the roofs of East City. 

“It worked, you know.”

He stopped. “What did?”

“Your surprise.” She smiled for the first time that day. 

“You’re just happy you didn’t have to go shopping with your roommate.”

“I’m sure she’s the one who wishes she was here. She’s been threatening to meet you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m concerned.”

“She’s good,” said Riza. “She’s a…friend.”

“To friendship, then.”

She nodded. “To friendship. And to friends who solve mysteries together.” 

“Making the world a better place already.” He held out an arm. “May I escort you back to your dorm, Miss Hawkeye?”

She shook her head. “I have a better idea.” 

They bought sandwiches and sat down on the riverbank, watching the stars beginning to wink into existence on the horizon. It was a chilly night, and neither of them had thought to wear a coat. Riza leaned into him, just slightly, and after a moment of hesitation he put his arm around her. 

“It’s late,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go back?”

“It’s my day off,” she said. “I want to enjoy myself.”

“My train will be coming soon.”

“I know.” 

They sat together a few more minutes. Roy sighed. “I should go.”

Riza stood, helping him to his feet. At the train station he offered to pay for a cab to take her back to Pymsworth, but she declined. 

“I can make it by myself,” she told him, with what could have been a smile but was tinged with something almost sad around the edges. 

And then the train came, and with a last goodbye he boarded it, settling in to his compartment as the vehicle pulled out of the station. And has he glanced through the window, he could see Riza running down the platform, hand stretched out in a final wave. He saluted her.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the school year passed more quickly than Riza could have imagined. Before long she was packing her suitcases once more and making her farewells with Rebecca. 

“You promise you’ll write me? It can get dreadfully boring in the summer without anyone fun around.”

Riza grinned. “I promise. And I’m sure you’ll find _someone_ entertaining to pass the time with.”

Rebecca gave an altogether devious smile. “Oh, I plan to.” 

The journey back to her hometown was as uneventful as ever. Roy met her at the train station, by now another part of their routine.

“You’re back for real this time,” he said. 

“Three whole months.” Riza stretched, looking around. “This place is even smaller than when I left it.”

“The city’ll do that to you. Just wait until you see Central.”

“I plan to, someday. Someday I’m going to get out of this town and see the whole world, if I can.”

“That’s an admirable goal.” There was something serious, almost wistful, in his voice today. “I’ve always wanted to travel. But not just travel, help places—help people. Experience this country before I start trying to make it better.” 

She nudged his shoulder. “That’s an admirable goal too.”

He ducked his head. “It’s stupid, probably. Let’s go.” 

They began the trek up to the house, kicking up dust from the sunbaked road as they went along. Roy was quieter than usual on their walk, and a little more lethargic in his movements, though he offered her a hasty grin when he caught her staring at him. She turned away, surprised at the blush that had crept across her cheeks. She wondered if the training was getting to him, or something else. 

It felt strange, to be cooking dinner with him again, her normal country life restored. The familiarity of it was jarring, and she found her mind drifting to Roy’s first night here, a whole year ago now. 

“Lost in thought?”

He was staring at her from across the table, a slight, fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been a year already,” she said. She couldn’t usually afford such nostalgia, but some part of her knew irrevocably that he understood. 

“It feels like longer to me. It feels—

He stopped suddenly, and she raised an eyebrow at him across the table, curious. “Feels like?”

“Nothing.”

She gave him a stern look, and he reddened. 

“It feels like I’ve known you longer,” he mumbled. 

“It’s the same for me, you know,” she told him gently, and they left it at that. 

She didn’t see him again until dinner the next night. She didn’t know where he’d been—locked away in the study with her father, or poring over books in his room, or perhaps even on another trip into town—but he seemed subdued, more so even than the previous evening. He wouldn’t speak about it for a while, but later, as they were washing the last of the dishes, he pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. 

“I’ve had another letter from Olivier.”

Riza lowered the plate in her hands. “How long has it been since she wrote you?”

“Three months, maybe four. Have you heard from her recently?”

She shook her head. “What does she say?” 

“Not much.” He sighed. “I’m not sure if that’s intentional or if she’s not allowed to tell me. But the conflict in Ishval…she says the prospects don’t look good. I think this is going to last longer than anyone thought.”

“You can always count on the military for that.”

“The fighting goes both ways,” Roy said. “Everyone involved has blood on their hands.”

“Maybe.” Riza frowned. “Is she safe, do you think? I mean, has she been called to the front lines, or is she commanding from a distance?”

“She won’t say, which doesn’t bode well. I have no idea, but…

“You think she’s out fighting.”

“She has to be. Otherwise why wouldn’t she tell me anything?”

Riza tried to think of a reason, something to sooth the lines of worry she could see beginning to crease his brow, but she could never forsake the truth in favor of his feelings.

“You’re probably right,” she said at last. “But I don’t see what we can do about it here.” 

“There has to be _something_.” He clenched his fists. “I can’t just stay in this place, completely _useless_ , while—

He broke off, the fire suddenly going out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That must have sounded terribly ungrateful.” 

“It’s not a crime to wish you could be of assistance.” She put a hand on his arm. “The best way you can do that right now, though, is to focus on completing your training.” 

“I know.” He bit his lip. “I just feel so _helpless_ sometimes. I’m tired of being too young to do anything.” 

“Not _anything_.”

“Oh?”

“Meet me after your lessons tomorrow. I’m beginning to form an idea.”

The next day she took him into town. He asked once, as they walked, where they were going, but she didn’t answer, and he seemed to accept her silence on the matter. She didn’t speak until they were halfway down the main boulevard. 

“The military has outposts everywhere,” she said. “Even in places like this.”

“Are we…?” He trailed off. 

“We’re making an inquiry,” she said, a confirmation. They stopped in front of a wooden door with the Amestrian flag tacked to it, fluttering slightly in the breeze. 

“I thought your father hated soldiers.”

“He does.” 

“Then why—

“You can’t still think that my father knows everything that goes on in his household.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “I take it ours is a secret mission.”

“Precisely.” She almost smiled at him. “So you’d better stay quiet.”

He drew his finger across his lips and pulled the door open, bowing her through. 

The inside of the military office was small and dark, the only light pouring through a square window on the back wall. It may not have been big, but it seemed well-stocked, and the desk was attended. Bureaus such as this one were everywhere these days, even in backwater no-horse towns like hers. A testament to the increasingly militarized government, maybe, or the conflict blooming on the Eastern front. Neither was something Riza cared to think too much about, even if the later was why they were here. 

She marched up to the desk and coughed politely to get the clerk’s attention. He was a small man, with round eyeglasses and mousy hair going grey at the roots. 

“We would like to know how we may be of service to the war effort,” said Riza. 

The clerk raised his eyebrows at them, making a show of looking them over. 

“And how old are you?”

Roy grit his teeth. “Old enough.” 

“No need to get snippy, young man, I merely meant there are age restriction on certain varieties of enlistment.”

“We’re not enlisting,” Riza said, and the clerk frowned.

“Then you’re…”

“We’re here to see if we can be of some other kind of assistance,” Roy supplied. 

The frown deepened, an obvious show of skepticism. 

“I can consult with my superiors,” he said, dubious. “Is there an address you wish to leave with me so that I may contact you about any opportunities?” 

Roy opened his mouth, but Riza put a hand on his arm.

“No need,” she said. “I’ll stop by at the same time next week to receive the information. Thank you.”

She led Roy out of the office. Outside, he paused on the steps, turning to her. 

“Why didn’t you leave your address with him? It would have been easier.” 

“An easier death sentence, maybe. I did tell you my father hates the military.” 

“And for good reason.”

The voice sent an immediate chill down her spine. 

“Father.”

He was standing in the lane, only a meter ahead, and Riza cursed herself for dropping her guard enough to allow him to sneak up on them. His face—so cold and stoic at the best of times—was wreathed in lines of fury.

“Master Hawkeye, I can explain,” Roy said, in a calm tone belied by the worry in his eyes. “I only wanted to help.”

“ _Help_?” Master Hawkeye spat. “What help has the military ever been? The only thing the _military_ is good for is meddling in other people’s affairs.” 

Riza stepped between them. “Father.” 

“And _you_. I trusted you to know better than this.” 

She turned her head, ashamed at feeling ashamed, and her father pushed past her, back up the main road in the direction of their estate.

He wouldn’t tell them why he had been in town. Perhaps he had overheard their plans, or perhaps he’d simply decided he needed something from the apothecary. Whatever the reason, he was silent during the entire walk back to the house. He strode ahead, stewing in his discontent, while the two teenagers trailed along behind. This wasn’t his usual absentminded lack of regard for conversation, Riza knew, but a deliberate sign of his anger. As soon as they arrived he stalked up to his study and slammed the door, all without uttering a word. 

She busied herself in the shed, cleaning and cataloguing and reorganizing, until near dusk. Roy had said nothing to her, following her father up to his study only to be met with a bolted door. When she let herself back into the house she found him standing there still. She crept up the stairs to join him, falling into place silently by his side. He turned his head a little at her arrival, but made no further movement, and they waited quietly together.

Roy snapped to attention as the door opened. His face was deathly pale, and Riza thought he must have been pacing earlier.

“Master Hawkeye,” he said, “please, allow me to—

“Enough.” The disdain in her father’s tone was matched by his hardened features. “I will speak to you no further today. Knock some sense into that head of yours, forget these witless notions about the military before you come back to me, or don’t come back at all.” 

He slammed the door in both of their faces. 

“Miss Hawkeye,” said Roy, not looking at her, “I would like to apologize. I seem to have landed you in terrible trouble.” 

“He’ll cool down eventually.” Riza dropped to a seat at the head of the staircase. “I’m more worried for you. My position in this household is somewhat less precarious than yours.”

“Still. I never meant to make your father angry with you.”

“It’s my fault as much as yours. We both made our choices.” 

He took his place beside her. “What do I do now?”

“Give him time and prepare yourself to beg, I expect.” 

“He’s right,” said Roy. “It was stupid to think I could help anything.” 

“He’s a pessimistic old man.”

Roy looked at her with shock, and she gave a bitter sort of smile. 

“Why deny it if it’s true?” 

And she was grateful to Roy for not saying _but he’s your father_ , as so many would have. (As she found herself thinking, at times, even if she liked to pretend she too old and wise for that now.)

“Things change,” she said. “People can change, even if my father won’t believe it.”

Roy put a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe your father can change too.”

Riza shook her head. It had been a long time since her hope stretched that far, but Roy meant well, at least. He stood. 

“There’s only one thing to do at a time like this.”

Riza turned a curious look on him, and he gave a ghost of his usual grin.

“It’s been a year since my last shooting lesson,” he said. “I’ll never improve at this rate.”

“And here I’d given you up for a lost cause.” She started down the stairs. “Come on, then. Off to the woods with you.”

It was far too dark, really, for this sort of thing, but that was never something that Roy would let stop him. Riza had to be grateful to him, for finding a way to distract them both. They fired bullet after bullet into the night, until they reached the end of the supply Riza had reserved for practice, and whatever residual agitation she might have felt, she wasn’t about to be wasteful. And still this restless energy persisted between them, exacerbated by the events of the day yet not, Riza realized, caused by them. 

She swallowed hard, giving her head a curt shake as if to rid it of the buzzing. 

“I’ll race you up to the hill,” she said, like a child and not the sixteen-year-old she would be in little more than a month now. They ran anyway.   
 


End file.
